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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425323">The Plan (not the ineffable one!) (as recounted and foiled by A. Z. Fell, retired angel)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria'>ximeria</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Fluff, Footnotes, Humour, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romance, Valentine's Day, soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:07:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425323</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Until the first Valentine's day after the Nayend comes around, Aziraphale has never viewed it with much appreciation. Love should be shown every day of the year, not just on one specific date.</p><p>Crowley has never seemed to give a toss either, though this time, he's gone silent as a snake on the hunt, so to speak... That <em>should</em> have been enough of a warning to Aziraphale that something was cooking (and it wasn't a five course dinner).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Plan (not the ineffable one!) (as recounted and foiled by A. Z. Fell, retired angel)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_in_black/gifts">Fangirl_in_black</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="https://goloveday.tumblr.com/post/640841095491813376">GO VDay Exchange 2021</a> for Fangirl_in_black.</p><p>Seeing as we turned out to both be unapologetic fluff connoisseurs, it was a pleasure to write this :D</p><p>Thank you to Meinposhbastard for the beta and for bouncing title ideas back and forth (my downfall *faints*)</p><p>Note on the footnotes - they are below their respective paragraphs to make it easier for screen readers to access and marked with numbers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Aziraphale had never been a huge fan of Valentine's Day. It was capitalistic enough that it soured the love of the day because Aziraphale believed, as a being of love, that it should be shown every day of the year rather than on a specific day of the year. (1.)</p><p class="footnote">(1. Though he wasn't complaining about the clearance sales in the chocolate section on the 15th.)</p><p>
  <br class="clear"/>
</p><p>He also hadn't expected Crowley to go overboard on the day either, though perhaps he should have seen it coming. Before the Apocanot they had both been old hats at what they did, mainly keeping their management off their backs with a minimum of effort.</p><p>As time passed, however, after the world didn't end and their respective bosses had refrained from making contact, it seemed Crowley was getting more and more restless. Aziraphale had had plenty of things to focus on, including Crowley, which meant he'd kept himself busy.</p><p>Until the first Valentine's day after the Nayend. At which point it seemed he went very, very quiet. Which should have been enough of a warning to Aziraphale that something was off.</p><p>Or cooking under that carefully styled mop of red hair.</p><p>It started just two minutes past midnight as February 13th yielded to February 14th. There was a strange noise at Aziraphale's front door and when he checked, he found a basket sitting right inside of it. Now, either there was a rather strange burglar about or it had been left there by other non-human means. And Aziraphale had known Crowley and his miracles for long enough that the familiarity of the shimmer in the air around it made him smile.</p><p>Lifting the basket from the ground, he brought it into the back of his bookshop. Aziraphale set it on the small table next to his favourite chair, on top of a sturdy pile of books about Greek mythology (2.) and then went to make a cup of tea. Whenever Crowley dropped something off over the years, it was always an occasion for savouring. Be it a rare edition of a book or something edible.</p><p class="footnote">(2. Aziraphale only brought this out when he needed a giggle. There was plenty in there that he knew were came from - sometimes from him, sometimes from Crowley, more often than not, though, from both of them. Never intentionally, of course!)</p><p>
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</p><p>Tea was most certainly the best choice.</p><p>Inside the small basket, covered by a red silk handkerchief, was a box with four macaroons - and the scent of them made Aziraphale close his eyes. They were not from anywhere near London. He would recognize that scent anywhere. It was from a small bakery in Toscana Italy. And they were fresh, still slightly warm.</p><p>The thought of Crowley remembering the small family run place filled him with warmth; that he'd remember how much Aziraphale had delighted in their delicacies the first time they had come across them. The place had been in the same family for generations and even a century later, Aziraphale remembered too well a warm summer's evening sharing a batch of their goods. (3.)</p><p class="footnote">(3. Crowley had only taken one before saying he was full, but he'd spent the rest of the evening gifting Aziraphale with his attention and company.)</p><p>
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</p><p>He had only just finished the last of them, licking his fingers clean when the air seemed to change. He could always tell when Crowley did something and this was very much one of his miracles in progress.</p><p>"Silly old serpent," he muttered to himself. He'd much rather that Crowley would come over and spend time with him than dropping off the odd gift. However, he was also happy to indulge the demon if he wanted to play his games. (4.)</p><p class="footnote">(4. As long as the games were PG and no one got hurt. Human, ethereal or occult.)</p><p>
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</p><p>At the door was a box - nondescript, no sender, no shipping detail, but with the same tell-tale feeling of Crowley's miracles.</p><p>This time it was a copy of <em>La Divina Commedia</em> - first edition - not entirely mint, but only slightly worn and Aziraphale's breath hitched. He recognised this one. Opening it to the first page, he found faded, greasy fingerprints - and he knew they would match his and Crowley's. As well as the small wine stains in the top corner.</p><p>They had had so much fun reading from this one to each other during a late night drinking binge - the book fresh from the printing press and bookbinder. (5.)</p><p class="footnote">(5. It had been more of a weeklong bender than a late night binge. And Crowley's rants had taken up the majority of it. His indignation at how orderly Hell was depicted in the book coupled with sarcasm so thick you could have cut it with a knife had caused Aziraphale to laugh so hard it had hurt for days.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Aziraphale took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out in a small laugh. Goodness, he'd thought that copy lost in time - had thought they might've left it on a table in a tavern on a drunken night. And all this time, it seemed Crowley had had it. Keeping it safe.</p><p>Crowley was such a sentimental fool. Aziraphale stifled a sniffle, knowing perfectly well that the emotions filling up his chest had been brewing for longer than any fine wine. Well, it seemed like Crowley wasn't the only sentimental idiot.</p><p>Pressing the book to his chest, Aziraphale got comfortable in his chair and opened it to the first page. Again, fingerprints greeted him. One page slightly torn where they'd been too drunk to be careful with it as they passed it back and forth. Flipping through the pages, he found one with several red wine stains.</p><p>This kind of state of a book should be abhorrent to him, but Aziraphale had clear flashes of why some of the stains were there. Some of the passages had made them laugh so hard that the wine had gone everywhere.</p><p>It could have been restored. It could have been miracled clean. Yet, Crowley had kept it in the state it had been in. Romantic and nostalgic were not words Aziraphale would say to Crowley's face, but if the shoe fit… (6.)</p><p class="footnote">(6. Every once in a while, if Crowley was being a cantankerous arse, Aziraphale would bring out things like 'nice', 'lovely', 'thoughtful', 'romantic' and such. Just because the fallout was always worth it and sometimes Aziraphale liked a little drama in his life.)</p><p>
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</p><p>He could have spent a few hours re-reading the passages that had made them laugh the most, but instead he sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and relived the moments in his memory. It didn't really matter what had been so funny. What mattered was watching Crowley, three sheets to the wind, glasses long since forgotten, on his back on a picnic blanket, laughing so hard he was wheezing.</p><p>It should irk Aziraphale that Crowley used such a human construct as Valentine's Day for this, but honestly, if Crowley needed an excuse to do this, then so be it. It wasn't like Aziraphale couldn't have made the first move. They had, after all, been doing this dance around each other for so long now.</p><p>The difference was that in the past they would draw back, away from each other for a while, if they got too close. Now… now there was nothing stopping them, though old habits were hard to get rid of.</p><p>Around 11AM another tingling sound alerted Aziraphale to another delivery.</p><p>Shaking his head, he wondered if he should call Crowley, if Crowley was expecting him to. Though odds were it would ruin Crowley's plans if Aziraphale intervened. Besides, it was more fun to see how far Crowley would take this.</p><p>The new parcel sat on the table next to the door rather than on the floor. And it wasn't just a parcel this time. It was another box with the most delightful scent coming from it as well as a ceramic cup of the decadent luxury chocolate from the place that Aziraphale knew didn't do takeaway - so Crowley had abducted a cup of it.</p><p>He should not encourage something like that, but goodness, did he appreciate it. The box held tiramisu from the small Italian place near one of the theatres they often went to. The one where, if they were in the area, Aziraphale would plead to go to and Crowley would huff and sigh and give in. Every time.</p><p>Aziraphale took a mental step back as he was drawn physically forward by the mouthwatering scents. All these things, he thought to himself as he brought the new gifts into the back with him. All these lovely little tokens, each of them with a personal story and meaning to the both of them. Places they'd gone to, things they'd done together. Times where they had come close to being at their happiest, with Heaven and Hell ignoring them.</p><p>Little stolen pockets of time.</p><p>Aziraphale took his time enjoying both the hot chocolate, piled high with whipped cream with just a dash of amaretto, as well as the absolutely decadent tiramisu. At the same time, his mind was running a mile a minute, pushing him to believe that there was more to it than Crowley's usual little gifts. Normally it would be a trinket of some kind that the demon would think he might enjoy - which he always did because, well, they were gifts from Crowley.</p><p>However, all these things, the ones he'd received through the night, had all had some personal backstory to them. Personal and emotional meaning to the both of them.</p><p>Now, Aziraphale would not normally abuse his grace, his angelic power, but he felt that perhaps this was the point where it was needed.</p><p>Though first he was going to savour every little bit of the tiramisu and possibly lick the cup that was by now unfortunately empty. (7.)</p><p class="footnote">(7. And then return the cup to the little café from which Crowley had 'liberated' it.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Pulling the rug away from the old portal he'd normally used to contact Heaven, Aziraphale set about changing the writing just a little bit. Well, a lot, really, because it wouldn't do to use it this way and in the progress discorporate Crowley.</p><p>They probably couldn't get new ones quite so easily now that they had cut ties with their employers. Not to mention, Aziraphale had grown quite fond of Crowley's corporation. It was well-known to him and he'd always be able to pick it out in the crowd. (8.)</p><p class="footnote">(8. No matter what hairbrained current fashion Crowley was following.)</p><p>
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</p><p>The circle tweaked, Aziraphale took a deep breath. He was doing this. He had to. Crowley had started it and if it was what Aziraphale thought it might be, then the ball was in his court, so to speak.</p><p>Of course he could let Crowley carry this out to extremes, but honestly, as much as that in itself could be rather entertaining, 6000 years was enough.</p><p>Closing his eyes, Aziraphale felt the circle come to life as he reached out, finding a very familiar presence - like the beacon of a lighthouse in a sea of candles.</p><p>And without further ado, he grabbed and yanked.</p><p>Now, Aziraphale was not prone to spur of the moment decisions, he was normally more of the planning and fretting kind. (9.)</p><p class="footnote">(9. Except that day in Rome when he'd come across a miserably looking Crowley and all his fretting had been bypassed at the speed of light.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Possibly, had he given it enough thought, he might have asked Crowley if he was decent, if such a thing was possible for a demon. However, he hadn't and, as it turned out, Crowley wasn't. Decent, that was.</p><p>In the glowing circle stood one wet demon swaddled in a huge, fluffy black bath towel, hair wet, eyes wide, feet bare. Well, all of him bare, really, if one did not take the bath towel into account.</p><p>Aziraphale had seen Crowley in various states of flummoxed, but never quite like this. And maybe it was the moment, the ridiculousness of it, but with a snap of the fingers, the circle went dark and he stepped forward, taking Crowley's face between his hands.</p><p>Crowley, busy grasping the towel to his chest, managed only a few garbled words, his bright amber eyes as big as saucers.</p><p>"You impossible, endearing, beautiful creature," Aziraphale breathed, feeling the love that had been building for 6000 years growing from it's usual small flame into a roaring bonfire. And it filled his very being to overflowing.</p><p>"Ngk," Crowley squeaked. If anything else followed, it was swallowed as Aziraphale closed that last half inch between their faces, kissing Crowley like there would be no tomorrow.</p><p>For all the darkest hours of the night when Aziraphale had allowed himself to consider this very moment, he had had no idea what it would be like. For a moment or two it was just that. Damp flesh against flesh, not a bad kiss, but not capable of moving heaven and earth either.</p><p>Then Crowley's legs gave in, Aziraphale taking his weight fully, the long fingers digging into Aziraphale's waistcoat, possibly doing more damage to it than time and wear had managed so far. Not that Aziraphale cared, because the moment the demon let go, Aziraphale felt their essences sliding into each other, overlapping and intersecting as if they were two organic puzzle pieces finally connecting.</p><p>Minutes later, or perhaps hours, days, Crowley tried to speak while his mouth was still busy kissing Aziraphale back.</p><p>"Don't speak with your mouth full," Aziraphale said primly as he pulled back. Then ruined the moment by giggling because the only thing in Crowley's mouth had been <em>his</em> tongue.</p><p>Crowley stared at him, his hair standing on ends, his cheeks flushed, his lips wet.</p><p>"Had it all planned, angel," he complained, the usual whine sneaking into his voice.</p><p>"Well, yes," Aziraphale replied, only feeling a little guilty. (10.)</p><p class="footnote">(10. Guilt and he were old acquaintances, and guilt was a hard thing to kick in general. Guilt about work, about who he was friends with, about having eaten too much decadent food and enjoyed himself too much etc. All the things that Gabriel would make a face at.)</p><p>
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</p><p>"I had more planned, you know," Crowley continued, though he sounded more like he was complaining out of habit by now. His eyes were glued to Aziraphale's lips and the tip of his forked tongue was just visible between his own.</p><p>"Do you want to go back to that or to kissing?" Aziraphale asked, putting more annoyance in his tone than he felt. "I mean, I can send you-"</p><p>This was as far as he got before Crowley made a horribly strangled noise, somewhere between a rat in a trap and a train whistle. And then he was kissing Aziraphale with all the fervour of a love starved demon. (11.)</p><p class="footnote">(11. Which he was.)</p><p>
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</p><p>For all that Aziraphale had enjoyed the gifts he'd received, they were made all the more potent by this, by having Crowley in his arms, busy clinging to him, the towel busy interacting with gravity and Aziraphale realising three things.</p><p>One, he hadn't considered much past this moment.</p><p>Two, the bookshop probably wasn't the best place for it.</p><p>And three, maybe the Valentine's Day thing wasn't so bad, after all? The humans were rather ingenious when it all came down to it.</p><p>The End</p>
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